My Bubble

I’ve realized something about time over the past couple years, as much as you want it to speed up or slow down, it’s always a constant. It’s true that an hour chatting with close friend seems to go by a lot faster than an hour of running, perhaps, but I’m starting to see less of a difference. Time barely changes for me now. I’ve spent a lot of time here in Ethiopia biding my time, waiting for the next adventure, but at some point I realized the adventure is here and I am living it every day. Pretty soon it will be my turn to pack up and leave Ethiopia, and until then I want to enjoy every moment I have left here.

It took me so long to find work at all in Dangila, and now I come up with new ideas for projects almost every day and wish I had time to start them, but I don’t. I wish I had more time to hang out with friends and neighbors, to smell the roasting coffee and eat freshly baked injera. I wish I could go back and focus on tutoring certain students who I now see are falling behind in reading and writing. I wish I could help more people. That’s the thing about Peace Corps, you never finish the work, but eventually it’s your time to go home. There is always more that could be done, but I also know that I cannot stay. 

My student, Ehetemarium, hand-feeding me a bite of injera -- a cultural sign of respect.

There have been times in this country that I’ve been flat out unhappy, and I’ll be the first to admit the number of times I’ve cried over stupid things (it’s a lot), but I love it here in Dangila. Recently I’ve been spending a lot of time on buses and I can only repeat “No, I cannot take you to America!” so many times to strangers who so impolitely ask to be my fake husband. But then I come back to Dangila and feel so at home.   I love the people so much. They are absolutely the most wonderful, giving people I’ve ever met. And I fear losing these friendships when I leave, especially since most of my favorite friendships are completely in Amharic and they don’t have access to even a post office box.

A few of the orphan boys, whom I love dearly, hanging out by the internet cafe.

A friend recently described it as a “bubble,” and when I leave I have to let it pop, even though I don’t want to. I’ve created this little world of mine over here, but it’s only a moment in time. When I come back in years to come it won’t be the same, and I won’t be the same. I’ll never likely be as “grassroots” as I am right now, never speak the language as well or know the people as well. It’s just like leaving high school or college—it’s fun to reminisce about the good ol’ college days, but you can’t actually go back, the people are gone and the place has changed. You can only really enjoy the memories (or try desperately hard to recreate it, which would only likely result in a hangover).

Needless to say, the ending is bitter sweet already. It has taken me two years to create this bubble and I only have three weeks in town left to appreciate it (since I’m traveling some around Christmas). I’m greeted by name all over town, treated as a local, and loved by many as their own daughter. One dear friend even told me that if I stayed he would build me a chicken house so I could have fresh eggs every day! I am ready to go, although it’s more a readiness for the next step, not readiness to say goodbye to this life I’ve created. But with my one-way ticket to Frankfurt purchased, ready or not, I’m leaving.

Ode to Arbay

The gawkers of Ethiopia sure got a treat today. If a ferengi alone attracts a lot of attention, and ferengi with a dog on a leash is laughable, imagine ferengi and dog in a public bus for ten hours!  I have known for some time that I would take my dog to America one day, she’s family and there is no way I could ever leave her behind. But, taking my dog to America means actually taking her there myself, and all the misadventures that come with it, and that ten-hour bus ride to Addis was the one I was dreading the most.

Having my Ethiopian dog, Arbay, for the past year and a half in Ethiopia has been such a blessing.  I got her after just one week in Dangila; picking her up off the street, bringing her to my town and starting to train her.  I didn’t like the idea of living alone, and she was the perfect antidote.  That one decision has shaped my entire Peace Corps experience.  Hearing my landlord’s kids echo my commands throughout the day, even when Arb wasn’t around: “Sit!” “Stay!” “speak!” ; Running at 6am only because she woke up before my alarm and sat next to my bed crying, wanting me to get up and run with her; Pretending she wasn’t mine as she teased someone’s tied-up sheep enough that it broke its’ rope and ran down the street, my dog hot on its tail.

The kids that cheerfully yell “Jennifer! Jennifer!” as I pass each day also yell “Arbay! Arbay!” when I have her with me.  I remember the first day I got her and how she threw up in the bus and wouldn’t walk with a leash; I should have known back then that she’d always have a mind of her own.

My landlord’s children, who watch Arbay when I’m out of town, think of her as more than just a dog.  Everyone I tell that I’m bringing Arb to America simply says, “wushash sechine,… give me your dog.” And that command alone assures me that I could not leave her.  If they understood what a ‘pet’ truly is they would never suggest that I just give her away.  They like her, they feed her, and they think she’s cute, but they don’t think of her as part of the family.  If I left her with any of those people she would never sleep inside, they would never pet her, and she would never get a bath.  They just don’t get it.

Having a dog has also taught me a lot of new Amharic.  Without Arbay my third person female conjugations just wouldn’t be the same.  “She does not bite,” “she will not eat you,” “she loves to run.”  And occasionally, if a group of obnoxious kids asks, “she bites!”  If I go to certain neighbors house without her they ask where she is, as if she is always suppose to be with me.  They ask what she eats, where she sleeps, how she is so clean.  It’s almost as if I were raising an alien, not an animal that is in abundance here.

In the days leading up to Arbay’s permanent departure we went around to visit all the homes that have shown her love and given her meat since she was a puppy.  They patted her head and said “selam” one last time as she raised her paw to shake their hand.  I spent a while at my landlord’s house having a photo shoot of Arbay and the kids.  The day before we left my landlord’s kids, Eyerus and Yenebeb, and I went on a final run, out to Arbay’s favorite rural area where she trots with her crooked gait through the cattle and donkey carts, and gallops through puddles and fields of tef.  That afternoon Eyerus and a friend came over to hangout one last time with Arbay.  She is probably the person who had bonded with Arb the most and really gets it.

 

We sat on my front porch to play with Arb for a while and say goodbye.  I really started to get sad myself about Arbay leaving. I know I’m the one taking her, and it means I’ll get to have her with me for years to come, but I also will have to live in Dangila for two months without her, something I’ve never done before.  I also began to realize how hard my own goodbyes with Dangila are going to be in the very near future.  But this week is about Arbay, and I’m glad she had her proper farewell to the town she loves.

I stood on my front porch at 5am this morning waiting for this arranged minibus to show up to take me, Arbay, and way too much luggage to Addis.  My friend and I had arranged with one of the bus station workers a couple days before for a bus to pick Arbay and me up at my house, and deliver me to where I was going in Addis, all for a reasonable ferengi price. When the driver arrived and doubled the price I didn’t have much room to bargain, so I told them to load the bags.  My very old guard mumbled how it would be a lot easier if I just left the dog with my landlord. He really doesn’t get it. 

We bounced down the road south for a few hours as the sun was rising out our left window.  We arrived in Debre Markos at 8am and the driver who kept calling me “my Jennifer” passed me along to a big bus, driven by, “my brother.”  I was skeptical by the exchange but I heard him tell the new driver to get me to my house, so I didn’t question it.  Arbay was a gem, sitting beside me on the seat the whole time, staring out her window, sticking her nose into the cracked window to feel the breeze, drawing attention every time the doors opened and only throwing up once.

Ten hours later we pulled into the bus station and they announced it was the final stop. “Excuse me,” I said in Amharic to the bus driver, “I paid to go to my house.”

“No you didn’t,” he replied.

I tried my best in broken Amharic to be pissed off and angry.  I explained that I had a dog, huge suitcases, and I paid to go all the way to my house.  Luckily one other passenger had been traveling with me since the beginning and knew exactly how much I paid (of course) and told them that I did in fact have a deal to be delivered to my house.  We got the Dangila bus station guys on the phone who denied my claim, and I yelled between tear that I had no money and had no other way to get to my house, hoping he’d have pity on me.  The crowd of bus station workers that had boarded the now empty bus I remained on was growing.  They listened to my sob story and tried to talk to the Dangila folks themselves to no avail.  At this point I was exhausted, fed up and not loving Ethiopia so I let the tears flow, not holding back the culturally inappropriate display of emotion.

Apparently when I heard the two drivers talking about getting me to my house I missed the verb “to see off,” a crucial mistake changing the meaning to, “You must see Jennifer off to a minibus to her house,” not, “You must get Jennifer a minibus to her house.”  Everyone felt bad for me and they kept retelling my story to more and more people who joined the crowd.  Just as I was cursing the bus station employees who ripped me off this morning, the Addis guys made up for all my negative thoughts.  They pooled their money (an elderly lady walking by even pitched in 10 Birr) and paid for my taxi to where I needed to go.  I was amazed by their generosity, and while I had money to cover the fare in my pocket, I’d told such a good story over the phone about not having money that I couldn’t pull out the money now.  I graciously accepted their offer, allowing their kindness to redeem Ethiopia in my mind for the day.

A few more days until Arbay and I are on a plane to America! I couldn’t be more excited, and I’m glad I get to leave Ethiopia on a positive note.

Unexpected Goodbyes

Where to begin? Some weeks pass and it seems like there is nothing significant to report, while others come to an end and I’m not sure exactly how I’m suppose to convey all my happenings.  This past week was the latter.

The week started out as normal: A little work, a lot of time to visit neighbors, but nothing out of the ordinary.  Until Lindsay, my closest neighbor from my group of volunteers (about one hour south), called to say that she decided it was her time to go home.  It is a personal decision we each have to make, every day, to stay or to go, and she finally felt it was time to say ‘goodbye.’  I of course made the day trip down to say my ‘goodbyes’ and help her with some errands around town.

The visit was sad, but necessary, and I was happy to spend some time with her in her town before she left.  One of my favorite things I was able to help her with was giving away some of her extra clothes to her Ethiopian friends.  The thing was, they didn’t know yet that she was leaving, they simply thought she was giving away some extra things.  They were so grateful and happy; Each left with just a few new items that undoubtedly doubled their wardrobes.  The excitement on each of their faces was priceless.  What came later was a little less heart-warming…

Lindsay and her dog, Sam

She finally let the cat out of the bag, telling the people on her compound that she was leaving, and that cat truly was the catalyst for mayhem.  People whom she loved dearly were all vying for everything she had left.  It was, in a word, ugly.  The families that you share a compound with are the people you interact with everyday, the people you love as your own family.  To see those people treat you like the rich white person you’ve struggled for over a year to distance yourself from, especially during your final hours, is hard.

In theory, the other Peace Corps Volunteers are no better.  We all came and took our turns looting through her extra stuff in order to empty her house.  We did it before Group 1 volunteers left also, and I know Group 3 will do the same with my stuff.  It’s the Peace Corps cycle.  Nothing is wrong with that.  So what is the problem when Ethiopians want the same thing?  I’m not sure.  Now maybe it will be less of a surprise when my turn comes in early 2011.

I returned home, a little shaken and heartbroken from the events in Lindsay’s town, only to encounter my own distressing trials.  Friday evening when my landlord’s wife called me into her house for a coffee ceremony, I expected nothing unusual.  I sat through the first two rounds as usual and only before cup three did my suspicions arise.  A crew of workers came in, parking a big flatbed semi outside the compound.  They participated in the final round of coffee and then, bam, started carrying out the sofas practically from beneath us.  My landlord’s family was moving.

You may have seen pictures in my recent album of the celebration I attended about a month ago at my landlord’s new house and ask yourself, ‘didn’t she see this one coming?’  The answer: yes.  But while I knew they were building a new house, and knew it was completed sans plumbing, they kept avoiding talking about their departure date when I would bring it up.  Indirect communication is common here, doubled by the fact that I don’t understand everything people say in Amharic anyways (my landlord does not speak English, nor is he a sympathetic listener when I speak Amharic), meaning that I am often out of the loop.  But this one hit me like a freight train.

The celebration last month as they finished building my landlord's new house.

And I couldn’t even tell you why, but as they loaded the last of their stuff into the truck, ready to haul it 5 blocks away (yes, their new house is just 10 minutes by foot from my house) I was holding back tears.  You never really appreciate things until they are gone, right? And while I’ve adjusted to the culture and people here, change is still hard.  I couldn’t help but feel a tad bit abandoned as they pulled away.  I thought they were my family; how could they just leave me?

My landlord's new house.

But as always, when necessary, we re-adapt, we create a new normal, and we figure out things slowly.

One Year Later

I can’t believe it is already December 11th. I kind of thought this day would never come! Tomorrow morning I meet my mom, dad, and brother aboard a plane to Tanzania. This also marks the only blog post so far that I have posted myself. A little behind-the-scenes information I don’t think I’ve mentioned- blogger doesn’t work in Ethiopia, so my mom posts all my blogs for me. Since my family is already en route (I actually just received an email from them from Cairo) I am posting this one first hand from the comforts of fast-ish satellite from the Peace Corps office.

Since I last updated, so much has happened. The countryside itself exemplifies the changes around me. It seems like overnight the fields and hillsides of bright green have faded once again to bold yellow, ready for harvesting. Water, which I forgot to mention has been consistently available in Dangila, is now again starting to disappear for a few days at a time. Electricity too, which was reliable for a few months after rainy season, is beginning to have outages across the country. And Peace Corps has finished its seasonal change as well; all PCVs from Group 1 have closed service and in a week Group 3 will swear in.

Just after Thanksgiving I was fortunate enough to be invited by a Muslim neighbor to celebrate the Arafa holiday. As I sat around eating injera, listening to prayers and drinking coffee I wondered if any non-Muslim in Dangila had ever been invited to celebrate with them, and I felt so honored. Then I celebrated World AIDS Day in my town, where HAPCO had organized a field-day of sorts, including a 100m girls’ race. Of course, I had to run in it. My town would have it no other way. I was prepared to get smoked, until the women lined up beside me wearing skirts and some wearing no shoes. I wound up getting second place, and was called a lion in Amharic for the remainder of the day.

Lining up to run the race on World AIDS Day.

The crowd on World AIDS Day in Dangila.

I had been invited to spend this past week in Assela with Group 3 trainees, so I came in a few days early to Addis to prepare for the cooking session my friend Danielle and I were in charge of. I had the privilege during those few days last weekend to say goodbye to my dear friend Jordan, who decided to go home early. It was very bittersweet to see him go, but I completely understand his decision. His presence in Ethiopia will be dearly missed.

I also had to say goodbye to the group of 10 boys in Dangila (mentioned in previous posts). When I return back to town they will have returned to live with their families. I went over the night before leaving town to say goodbye and could barely hold back my tears as they each said goodbye to me. They will still be living in town, but I won’t be able to dependable see all of them every day, and I am going to miss those boys so much. As much as I’ve told them how much I love all of them I think they will never realize how much of an impact the 10 of them have made on me.

This past week I stayed in Assela, and spend the days visiting the trainees in their satellite villages with the technical trainer and two other volunteers. I had a lot of fun with the other PCVs and getting to know the new group. Although I saw them for a brief visit when they were still jetlagged, I really enjoyed getting to know them this week. Just yesterday Danielle and I were able to do a cooking demonstration for them, showing them how to create a stove-top dutch oven, and make some delicious home cooking!

Now I am back in Addis Ababa, and ready as ever to see my family tomorrow! Since I last updated I also passed my one year mark since leaving America. It has been a wonderful year filled with opportunities I could have never imagined a year ago, and I have grown exponentially from them. Thank you to everyone here and in America who has supported me on this adventure. I feel so loved and blessed. I will try to update about my month-long family adventure along the way, as I am sure our reunion abroad the plane tomorrow will be quite a scene!

Farewells and New Faces

About a week ago all the volunteers were able to welcome their new site neighbors from Peace Corps Group 3 during their week-long site visit. I am very excited that two nearby towns will have volunteers from the new group. Towns just twenty minutes north of Dangila, and thirty minutes south, by bus, welcomed new volunteers! It just so happened that the new group had their Site Visit week during many of Group 1 volunteer’s last week at site. While this makes for a convenient handoff of furniture and goods for sites with replacement volunteers, it also was a dose of reality about all the changes taking place. The whirlwind of transition all around me is hard to absorb from my viewpoint in the eye of the storm. I was able to say goodbye to a couple of Group 1 friends during the week, and the farewells were certainly hard to take. Seeing neighbors, and confidants, depart from this adventure was bitter sweet. They will be missed. It is a turning point in my time here; changing from second-in-command to leaders-of-the-pack. Now it is my group’s turn to dole out advice and pretend we know what we’re doing. And in many ways I don’t feel ready to do that. But I also realize that it is just part of the Peace Corps lifecycle, and it is a required step so that one day I too will return to America… or somewhere. With all of this change, and the approach of the one-year mark away from home, I am happy to report that I am finding my place in the world. I still cannot describe a “typical day” and I haven’t a clue what I want to do upon finishing my service, but I like the pace of life here, and couldn’t imagine leaving quite yet. That being said, one year away from my family has been one of the hardest things I have ever had to endure. And in less than a month now I have the privilege of introducing my family to Ethiopia (and visiting Tanzania and Egypt with them!). It is a trip of a lifetime, and cannot wait to reunite with them, have an adventure, and show them my new home.

Defining Family

When I arrived in Ambo 10 weeks ago, I defined family as a blood relationship.  I did not quite understand any of the relationships between the members of my host family; in fact, I obsessed with untangling the branches of their family tree.  I discovered that my host sister, Almaz, who took care of me, was actually a distant niece of my host parents.  Her five sisters turned out to be one sister, two cousins, and two close friends.  I was told that my fellow trainee Jordan's host family is related to my host family, but it turns out they are just neighbors and friends.

Jordan and me with our host families, who may or may not be related.

In America I consider many of my friends to be family, that is just what happens with close relationships, but unlike the Ethiopians, when I introduce my friends, I still just call them "friends."  I soon realized that even when Almaz introduced me to her friends around town, she just said I was her sister, no explanation.  I slowly began calling each of my Ethiopian friends my brothers and sisters, crossing generations and families.  People who are technically just family-friends, or who should be my nieces and nephews, they became my Ethiopian siblings.

As I packed my bags into the Peace Corps vehicle the day before I moved out, my father, who does not speak a word of English, hugged me as we shook hands and kept saying "yene lej," my child.  The little girls I have befriended in the neighborhood who call me their sister wiped tears from their eyes as I said my final "goodbyes."  My little brother, Naboni, played outside my room this morning with his new soccer ball I gave him, as I ate my last home-cooked meal.  It is amazing what an impact these people have had on me in just 10 weeks.

I will miss so many things about living in Ambo.  I will miss watching the one Ethiopian channel, ETV, with my parents at night while attempting to practice my new Amharic words.  My father would smile and mutter, "gobez Jennifer, gobez."  I will miss the children who run into the streets and yell my name instead of the ever so popular "you!" I will miss that group of women that Almaz introduced me to, all of which I too can now call sisters.  I have loved having this experience and getting to know my host family, fellow volunteers, and Ethiopian training staff.  I also cannot wait for the adventures that are to come in Dangila over the next 2 years.  Tomorrow I swear-in as a Peace Corps Volunteer and Saturday I move to Dangila where I get to start what I came here to do.  I am looking forward to building friendships and family in my new home.

My Wandering Thoughts

The last week, since arriving back at training from my site visit, has slowly progressed, bringing us to week 9 of training.  Being back in Ambo has brought many comforts, as I consider my room here a pseudo home, and I realized while away how much I missed my host family.  This past week has also made me appreciate my family of fellow trainees, especially with the departure of two friends.  Our group of 40 is now down to 38, making last week a roller coaster of emotions in itself. Back-to-back days of departures left our group a little shaken-up.  I think many of us had a naive hope that our group would defy the odds and stick together until the end, but fate is often times out of our hands.
 

My extended host family.

Each left for very a different reason, and each departure also left me with a head full of new thoughts.  First reactions included shock and sadness, followed by the realization of how close I am to home.  Seeing a friend leave made me imagine what it would be like arriving back in Atlanta in just a few days.  I had not seriously imagined leaving all of this yet. In a way, imagining that became tempting, and I realized that I could regain all those comforts I miss in what seemed like the snap of a finger.
 
My life is completely different than it was just two months ago, and many days I crave pieces of my life from America, but more than that I want an adventure here in Ethiopia.  I am not at all ready to go home; in fact, I haven't even begun my journey as a volunteer yet.  All of these thoughts were a bizarre mental exercise, which made Ethiopia seem almost too close to home, and it made my time here feel almost too temporary.  As you can tell by my scattered thoughts, my mind is still wandering somewhere between American and Africa.  At the end of the day, I am missing my departed friends, but I am still hopeful and looking forward to everything Ethiopia has to offer.

Peace Corps training lunch table.

In the meantime, I am ever so ready to swear-in as an official Peace Corps Volunteer.  I love spending time with the trainees. The companionship of anyone who speaks English fluently, comprehends my sarcasm, and understands Western culture will never be under-appreciated again. I am also ready though to begin what a came here to do—whatever that might be.  Just over a week now until I move from Ambo to my site where I get to start setting up my new house, and my new life in Dangila.  I am scared and clueless, but also anxious and prepared.  Life is meant to be a daring adventure, and I intend to keep it that way.